


Polite Fiction

by phenanthrene_blue



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: All of the Dodgers are gay, Dysfunctional Relationships, Filthy, Kiké gets wrecked tho, Los Angeles Dodgers, M/M, One Night Stands, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Loss, implied threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 07:13:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16928823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phenanthrene_blue/pseuds/phenanthrene_blue
Summary: Yasmani wasn’t really expecting this in Los Angeles when he arrived.It is California, after all, but still, nobody really wants to openly acknowledge it.The Dodgers arethatteam.





	Polite Fiction

Yasmani wasn’t really expecting this in Los Angeles when he arrived.

It is California, after all, but still, _nobody_ really wants to openly acknowledge it.

The Dodgers are _that_ team.

Now, the more he thinks about it, the more he’s certain that after three years of knowing the team, only Kersh, Kenta, and Roberts are actually 100% straight. And _probably_ Justin, but even then he’s not definitively sure. Then there are the guys who are single and disinterested in everything except baseball, another quarter that’s ambiguous (or private enough to _seem_ ambiguous), and then there’s the remaining half, which is…

…that time two guys from the bullpen were watching porn shoulder-to-shoulder in the meeting room when they were supposed to be watching film and figuring out if they were tipping or not. Then there was that incident where Joc and Andre were doing… _something_ on the couch in the locker room, but Yasmani wasn’t quite sure what because it was midnight and no one was supposed to still _be_ in there. So he had just walked away convinced that he had to have been mistaken. He had just forgotten his headphones. He didn’t see anything.

Then he walked in on Chris giving Cody a post-loss consolation blowjob in the janitorial closet - with Cody’s pants around his ankles and Chris blushing - without any polite fiction to be seen, and Yasmani finally realized that yes, the remaining fifty-odd percent were, well, _this_.

Then there is Kiké. Kiké is…distracting. Loud, and giggly, and absolutely _magnetic_ , although giggling itself doesn’t mean much of anything. No, it was his constant pawing at Chase, the eyes he made at Corey, parading around shirtless, switching his hips and _showing off_ and letting everyone _enjoy the scenery_ that really told Yasmani everything he needed to know. And based on the way that Kiké’s fiancee interacted with the rest of the club’s ladies, Yasmani was pretty sure that she preferred _female company_ , so maybe it worked out anyway. Not that Yasmani is ever going to _ask_ , because that’s none of his goddamn business.

Then there’s Yasiel. While Yasiel’s past five years of baby mama drama and subsequent hyper-awareness of his personal life kept everyone else occupied, it was an open secret that the majority of clubhouse found him _ridiculously_ attractive. Slack-jawed staring, innuendos, and all, just amplified by Yasiel’s…fixation with licking everyone and everything, _knowing_ the whole time that he was _teasing_ , getting everyone all keyed up and agitated. One time, Yasmani had been sitting alone in the dugout, and Yasiel, stomping frustrated after striking out, had winked at him and licked his lips so _slowly_ that it had taken maybe fifteen seconds before he had wanted Yasiel to bend him over and fuck him senseless right there in front of everyone.

He’s sure most of them would’ve loved to watch.

Then there is Yasmani. Even before they got married, Heather had acknowledged, in a nonchalant, oh-this-comes-with-the-territory way, that he was probably going to want to fool around with his teammates. And she was right, of course. But as long as he didn’t bail on the kids, or bring home chlamydia, or actually fall for one of them and create some…complicated bisexual love polygon, it wasn’t too much of a fuss. What’s a little friction and harmless fun?

Although, considering Yasmani has made a career out of patience and routine and extreme discipline, even he thought he’d have _more self-control_ than _this_.

But he doesn’t, because here he is, with Yasiel and Kiké, in the plushest suite in the fanciest hotel in Hollywood.

They just paid with cash, and it’s two in the morning.

And they’ve been drinking.

And they’ve just lost the World Series, this time pounded into the Stone Age by Boston, for the second consecutive year.

And Yasiel is _kissing_ Kiké, hard and purposefully, almost _exaggeratedly_ ; the two of them are kneeling on the bed, while Yasmani has parked himself in a chair, now observing rather intently.

Neither one of them is wearing a shirt; Yasmani doesn’t even know where their shirts ended up at this point. Kiké’s just in his jeans and Yasiel hasn’t changed out of his uniform pants after the game - he’s just lost the belt. Yasiel’s hands are _enormous_ , dark on Kiké’s pale hips as Kiké grinds up against him, and Yasiel says something in Spanish and Kiké leans in and gives Yasiel a soft bite right on his lower lip.

“Still gonna have a good time…” Yasiel says, unzipping Kiké’s pants. “Right, Yaz?”

“ _Si, Señor_.” Yasmani feels himself smile. Maybe it’s warm in the room, or maybe it’s the alcohol, but his face already feels like it’s going to melt right off. _He still can’t believe Yasiel convinced them both to do this._

“Mm _mmfff_.” Kiké groans as Yasiel forces his hand inside the front of his jeans, holding there, rubbing for a second before he pulls Kiké’s pants all the way down.

And Kiké’s not wearing any underwear. Of course he’s not, it’s _Kiké_.

Then Kiké is sitting down, and then he’s lying down, and Yasiel starts _licking_ him everywhere, his naughty mouth and _that_ _tongue_ all over, right down Kiké’s smooth chest and hard stomach, and Yasiel flicks both his thumbs over Kiké’s nipples until Kiké twists and shifts in his arms.

“ _Yasiel…_ ” he says, part moan and part laugh, through his obviously turned-on smile.

Yasmani’s loving the hell out of this. He slumps lower in the chair; spreads his legs apart a little bit.

Yasiel’s sucking a hickey right into Kiké’s hip bone, and all Kiké can do is groan inarticulately, his head rolling to the side. Kiké’s mouth is wet, maybe a little swollen from being kissed so much, and his dick is _so_ hard, but Yasmani can’t stare too much because Yasiel immediately starts sucking Kiké off. He’s slow and methodical at first, but then Yasiel’s eyes close and his cheeks hollow and he takes Kiké deep, all the way down, and suddenly Kiké’s fingers are twisted in Yasiel’s gold necklace and - holy _fuck_ , it’s so hot.

Yasmani’s got his right hand down his shorts. It’s almost reflexive at this point.

Kiké’s hips are starting to roll off the bed; he’s trying so hard to move upward, to fuck harder into Yasiel’s mouth, but he’s _not going to get what he wants because_ _Yasiel is in control here_ , and Kiké’s lower body is trapped beneath his weight, his hands now pinned down sturdily, futilely under Yasiel’s. Yasiel works him up for a while, and then pulls off inch by inch, sensually and with a ton of saliva and Kiké absolutely _howls_ in response.

Yasmani is not surprised that Kiké is so _loud_. Or that Yasiel is so good with his mouth, like he’s done this a million times before. Nope, not _one_ bit.

There's more whispering in Spanish, and Kiké gets onto all fours, and Yasiel starts to kneel behind him. Yasmani can see where Yasiel is hard, _huge_ and pushing out the front of his too-tight grey pants, which now have the top buttons undone. Kiké stops him before he gets situated.

“No, the other way.” Kiké says, pointing his head over to where Yasmani is sitting. “I want him to see _everything_.”

So he turns around. Yasmani already knew Kiké’s ass was gorgeous, but this is a _damn_ good view, and _Christ_ , Yasmani’s cock is also hard, really hard under his sweating palm, so hard that he’s probably got no blood left in his brain at this point. _Not that there’s much to think about._

Yasiel is licking down Kiké’s back. He’s enjoying it: his mouth is wide open, and his hands are splayed out on Kiké’s waist and Kiké’s ass, kneading lustfully at the fullest parts, and then running his finger over Kiké’s dick until his balls tense and draw up. God, Yasiel is so _big_ , and Yasmani thinks that if Yasiel smacked Kiké’s ass with enough force, his handprint might just cover all of it. _It’s a good thought._ It’s a better sight, though, watching Yasiel spreading Kiké’s ass-cheeks, just so Yasmani can see where his hole is tight and pink, just before Yasiel ducks his head down and _licks_ _Kiké right there_.

Kiké is perhaps a little shocked, but Yasiel doesn’t stop, and Yasmani can see and _hear_ just how wet and sloppy and _enthusiastic_ Yasiel is, and soon Kiké is excitable and twitchy and asking for more and Yasiel gives his hole a hard, slurping kiss, and then _another_ , which elicits a guttural _ughhhhh my God._

But not from Kiké. From _Yasmani_ , who’s got his shorts down and his hand working over his cock. He’s dragging his middle finger repeatedly right through the slit, right where he’s leaking, because he’s buzzed and his teammates are riding him right off the cliff into an ocean of depravity he’s never been swimming in before.

_Maybe it does come with the territory._

Yasiel’s got his thumb inside Kiké now, hooking slightly, stretching him open, and he gives Kiké’s ass a good solid whack with his other hand. Kiké whines and nods quickly, and Yasiel slides two fingers inside him as deep as they’ll go. He rubs the tip of Kiké’s cock, and a nice thread of pre-come mixed with spit stretches to Yasiel’s palm when he pulls away.

Yasmani’s worked himself damn near up to the edge already, seeing how Kiké’s fucking himself on Yasiel’s fingers, watching Yasiel’s hard muscles shifting beneath his skin as he pushes back. 

“I think.” Yasiel grins. “He is ready for us now, huh?”

“Ah- _okay_.” Kiké says, somewhat out of breath. “So which one of you goes first?”

“ _You_.” Yasmani orders Yasiel, holding out a condom from the bag at his feet. “I want to _watch_.”

Yeah, Yasmani’s going to _watch_. He’s going to watch Yasiel _fuck_ Kiké until he collapses onto his stomach and screams Yasiel’s name, and then _he’s_ going to fuck Kiké. God, he’s going to fuck Kiké absolutely raw and drive him wild.And maybe he’ll fuck Yasiel, or he’ll get to ride Yasiel’s gigantic cock while Kiké watches, or Kiké will fuck him, and he’s almost giddy with the anticipation of not-quite-knowing. Because they’re all rich and semi-drunk and horny, and sometimes things head south psychologically after a loss and sometimes you _have_ to do this.

And in the morning, when they go back to their daily, separate lives, it’ll all fall under the umbrella of _post-loss comfort_ and _friendship_ and _building team chemistry_ , because that’s what having teammates is all about.

Watching porn and fooling around in the janitorial closet is maybe just an extension of baseball, where it’s all about…waving your phallic implements and going deep and _scoring_ , right?

When he actually thinks about it that way, it makes Yasmani laugh.

Yes, the Dodgers are _that_ team, and perhaps he wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Fiction. Didn't happen, won't happen. Just blowing off (heh) some end-of-semester anxiety.
> 
> I have no knowledge of anyone's actual relationships, or of really anything of the sort. 
> 
> I also take no responsibility for ruining anyone's finals week.


End file.
